Hugo Stiglitz' Celebrity
by Chloe Winchester
Summary: Hugo Stiglitz isn't only famous with German soldiers, but with a certain lovely French woman as well. Hugo/OC Oneshot No slash with the Basterds.


**Hugo Stiglitz' Celebrity**

Crazy, that's what he was. That's what nearly every person he'd come in contact with told him.

"Fuckin' insayne…I like it" was what Aldo had said the first time he saw him tear a Nazi's throat out with his bare hands.

He'd cracked his neck and threw the man to the ground, watching as he spluttered his last breaths of life. He grinned manically, looking at The Apache.

"Still an amateur?" He asked softly, accent heavy. Aldo looked at the glint in his eyes, the dimples showing on his cheeks and laughed. If it weren't for the blood drenching the sergeant, he'd almost look human.

"I think your staytus's been upgraded, Stiglitz." He gave a small nod and wiped his face, his smile leaving as quickly as it had came

"Ya think we can handle this guy?" Donowitz whispered, watching him with a mixture of awe and mild fear. Aldo nodded, smirking.

"Trus' me Donny. He hates Natzees more'n you do."

He did. He never voiced it, but with a reputation like his he didn't have to. He hated those men, hated them with all that he had. He wouldn't be happy until every man like them was dead, and being part of the Basterds insured that that might happen.

Now he was stalking down an alley, tearing medals off of a uniform he detested. He discarded them, loathing set deep in his eyes, tearing the buttons open to let out some of the heat his body was letting off. God, being around all of those pigs made him want to slaughter anything he could get his hands on.

"Monsieur!"

He spun around, pinning the body beside him to the brick, knife drawn and pressed to their throat almost inhumanly fast.

A woman looked back up at him, her blue eyes wide, quivering underneath his hand as it was clamped over her mouth. He stared at her. You couldn't trust anyone, not a soul. Not even this woman.

She simply stared at him. She didn't try to get away or scream, she didn't even acknowledge the large knife that was more than ready to end her life. He just looked back, trying to search his mind for the small amount of French he knew.

"Shh," he said softly, slowly taking his hand from her lips. She nodded, staying quiet. His brow furrowed, thinking hard. "Tu, tu t'appelles comment?"

"N-Nicole," she stammered, her eyes never leaving his. Something dawned in her large eyes, recognition. He tensed, hand ready to slice her neck right open. "H-Hugo Stiglitz?" He froze, taken aback that this woman actually recognized him. He frowned, pressing the steel closer to her flesh.

"Comment-?"

"De journal," she whispered. He stared at her, no, _into_ her. She breathed slowly, staring up into his intense, fiery green eyes.

"P-parle, uh, l'anglais?"

"Yes," she breathed.

"Good," he said. "You know who I am?"

"Yes."

"From the paper?"

"Yes," she continued to look at him, never breaking eye contact with him, a daring move for a woman in her position. "I…I thought you were brilliant." He paused, cocking his head curiously.

"That won't work," he whispered. "You're afraid."

"No," she said, shaking her head, a smile playing on her small lips. "I don't want to get away from you." She wasn't lying. Either that or she was the best liar he'd ever seen.

"Who do you work for?" He growled, holding a fistful of her hair.

"Monsieur Perrier," she looked at the building he was holding her against. "I'm a waitress." He looked at her steadily.

"A waitress?" She nodded. There was a beat of silence between them, nothing but the sounds of the street filtering through. "I don't believe you."

"You should, I'm telling the truth."

"A woman would have screamed by now," he said pointedly. She smiled again.

"I'm not your normal woman, Monsieur Stiglitz," she said quietly. He continued to stare at her.

"Why do you speak English?"

"Why do you?" She challenged. "It's good for business if you can speak a language everyone's learning."

Yet another nod. He continued to look deep into her eyes, face expressionless and unreadable.

"Can I ask you something, Monsieur Stiglitz?" She asked quietly. He nodded. "When was the last time you were with a woman?" His expression didn't change beside the slight shift in his eyebrows.

"It's been awhile," he said bluntly. She smiled a little. He frowned.

"You were waiting for me to come out of that restaurant, weren't you?" He asked softly. She chewed her lip, staring up at him. "Possibly." He frowned ever so slightly. "I'm sorry, I just, I couldn't believe it was you-"

"You knew who I was and you didn't say anything?" She shook her head. "Do you know how much money I'm worth?"

"I hate those Germans as much as you do. They're destroying my country. And you…I knew you'd kill them." She glanced at his still blood-stained hands. "I guess you did," she breathed.

He looked at her for another beat. Slowly, he put his knife away. He held her face, gently thumbing her cheek for a moment. Silence surrounded them and she waited, holding her breath.

Then he smiled.

He kissed her, hard and deep, holding her tightly. She moaned in surprise before melting into him, feeling his tight, strong arms engulf her. She felt passion and energy that he'd pent up inside him pour into her. It was the same energy he used to slaughter Gestapo and SS with one slice, but this was a different kind of lust.

His hands ventured over her soft curves, feeling her chest rise and fall rapidly under his. He held her waist, pulling her flush to his pelvis, grunting quietly. She gasped.

"Wait," she choked, hands on his chest. He paused, eyes hungry. "Wait, not here. Not here, I live right there," she pointed beside them. He glanced over to a door about ten feet away. He stared at her suspiciously.

"Oh come on, if I wanted to kill you you'd be dead already," she sighed. He picked her up, crushing their lips together once more.

They burst through the door. He kicked it shut, throwing her down on the bed. He continued kissing her, but was in no hurry. As heated as his lips were, they moved at a slower pace than she expected. She thirsted for him, drinking in every ounce of those hungry lips that she could get a hold of. She ran her fingers through his hair, tugging softly when he kissed her neck.

He threw the coat of the horrible uniform he wore behind him, helping her pull her dress over her head. He buried his lips in her neck, breathing deep. She gasped and rolled over, sending him underneath her. Stiglitz complied easily, letting her do what she wanted.

She hastily undid the buttons on his shirt, kissing every inch of flesh that she revealed. He shut his eyes, gripping the sheets underneath him, moaning so softly she could barely hear him.

She removed his shirt, running her hands up and down his sides, watching him wince and jerk ever so slightly beneath her. She lifted his arms over his head, kissing him deeply. They rolled again and he was holding her, busily taking off the rest of her clothes and shoving off his own.

She wrapped her arms around him, running her hands down his back. He froze; she gasped.

He sat up, eyes downcast. She wilted. He looked sad, even ashamed. There was anger in his eyes, at himself, not her. She sat up, refastening her bra. He wasn't looking at her now, he was staring down at his hands, his back to her.

Scars, long and deep ran back and forth across his flesh, remnants of Major Hellstrom's punishment for insubordination. Hesitantly, she reached out and touched them. He winced.

"Shh," she said softly, scooting closer to him. "It's okay," she assured. He remained silent. Slowly, carefully, she kissed one on his shoulder. He winced again, shutting his eyes. She kissed another one, fingers gently tracing them. He turned, looking at her.

"It's okay," she repeated. She kissed him again, trying to guide him back to her. The scars didn't bother her, they just surprised her. She kissed his neck, her hand holding the other side of his face. Slowly, he leaned into her kiss and met her lips. She backed up, lying down again. He slid over her, kissing her deeply, taking off her bra again.

She threw her head back when he started to move, gasping when he kissed her neck. He buried his face there, shutting his eyes and moaning, breath heavy and labored.

She couldn't believe this was happening. She'd wished this would happen before, she'd thought about it more times than she could count, but now it was actually happening.

She smiled at him, why she didn't know, but he smiled back, dimples and all. They laughed, also for reasons unknown. She kissed him, tangling her fingers in his hair again.

"Faster?"

He obliged, holding her tighter. His hips rolled and an even pace, breath heaving, eyes shut tight. She watched sweat drip down his chest, felt his arms hold her in a firm, but gentle embrace.

She felt tension build inside her as the friction built. He moved faster and faster. He gasped and whimpered very softly, briefly biting his lip and letting the skin slide slowly out of his mouth. She shut her eyes, hand on his back.

Faster, faster, faster, faster…

"OH GOD!"

A white light.

He took a shuddering breath. "AHN!" His eyes squeezed shut, he shuddered, and it was over.

He collapsed beside her, gasping with her.

"My God," she breathed. "God…"

He tugged the covers over them, pulling her close to him.

"Go to sleep," he whispered, kissing her cheek.

She sighed contentedly, nuzzling into his chest. She knew by tomorrow he'd be gone and absolutely nothing would come of this, but she didn't care.

She'd had sex with Hugo Stiglitz.

* * *

He finished buttoning his shirt, still treading carefully. He turned and looked at Nicole. She was still asleep, peaceful, and still as beautiful as he remembered yesterday.

He went over to her, leaning down and thumbing her cheek. Her eyes fluttered open and she looked up at him.

"Au revoir, Nicole," he whispered, kissing her forehead.

She smiled a little.

"Au revoir, Hugo." He smiled and walked away.

* * *

"Where'n the hell you been?" Aldo demanded as Stiglitz walked toward him.

"Having sex," he said bluntly, walking past him. Aldo's brows rose and he chuckled.

"Good job," Donny smiled. Hugo stopped short, turning to him. Donny flinched.

"Thanks."

He walked away, not letting them see him grin from ear to ear.

"You still-"

"Donny," Aldo said, smirking at him and taking the snuff from his pocket. "He killed ten Natzees by 'imself yesterday. I think 'e was entitled to a lil fun, don't you?"

"Yeah."

Aldo sniffed. "Then how about you shut the fuck up?"

**Fin**


End file.
